“I think not. It would shatter her, Edward. She needs to believe it was my brother who wrote them.” Charles had written the first twelve letters, of course, but now Julian's letters outnumbered them. There were times when he felt guilty about deceiving her, but writing the letters made him feel closer to her somehow. Julian was an unmarried man with few friends and no children of his own. The letters were the only part of his life that made him feel proud.
“I think she should know that you have written them,” Edward disagreed. “She should know that it is you who have poured your heart into them. You do love her, do you not?”
“I... care for her.”
“Then I don't understand why you don't tell her!” Edward tilted his head back, swigging spirits straight from a bottle. “If you insist on never revealing your feelings to anyone, you're destined to die alone.”
“And why are you qualified to give advice?” As he bantered with his nephew, Julian sanded his letter and proceeded to fold it. “You aren't exactly a young bachelor yourself, Edward, and there is usually a reason why a confirmed bachelor remains a bachelor. One would assume you are also no expert in matters of the heart.”
“I'm six and thirty... quite a bit younger than you, I daresay.” After draining the last dregs from his bottle, Edward slurred, “I've had m'heart broken a few too many times. I no longer bother with the fool notion of... hic... love.”
“And yet, you think I should confess my feelings to Marie Sutton? You, my friend, are a living contradiction!” Julian stared at the letter in his hand. He had intentionally used aged paper, hoping to make the letter look more authentic. For several years now, Marie had not questioned the letters' authenticity, so he assumed she would have nothing to suspect.
“Neverthelessh...” Edward continued to slur. “I think you should tell her its you who's writing the letters. You might regret it if you don't.”
“My life has been full of regret, Edward,” Julian told his nephew. “And I accept my lot. I am now a much older man than I ever dreamed I would be. You see, that's the thing about life... no one ever expects to get old.”
Edward narrowed his eyes and stared at his uncle, puzzled. Julian's thought was much too deep for a gentleman in his cups to comprehend.
“I am an old man now. It's far too late to start living any life but this one,” Julian claimed. “So I will continue to admire her from afar... and hope that my letters give her joy.”
* * *
“May I read the letter?” Cecily asked. “Please, Aunt Marie? I'm terribly curious!”
Eighteen-year-old Cecily Wolfe sat in front of the looking glass. Her great aunt stood behind her, sifting a brush through the young woman's ebony locks. Marie made an effort to avoid the question as long as she possibly could. “Your hair is very much like my own, dear. It's so very dark. Or... I suppose I should say it was like my own. Now I am afraid I have considerably more gray... although, I do not think I have as much gray as some women my age. Lady Stafford, for example, has an entire head of white hair! In that regard, I am lucky. I--”
“Aunt Marie,” the young woman quietly interrupted. “Forgive me if I am being blunt, but... are you ignoring my question? I do not mean to pry, but I love your letters from Captain Sedgeford, and I would very much like to read another!”
“Would you?” Marie asked with a sigh. Phoebe's child had always been a fanciful one, forever enthralled by the idea of romance. Her fascination with the captain's letters was not particularly surprising.
“Oh, I would! Very much!”
“Very well,” Marie capsized. “Let me retrieve it...”
As her aunt went to her desk to collect the letter, Cecily ran her fingers through the ends of her silken hair. She watched herself in the looking glass, studying the blue-violet eyes in her reflection. They were a truly extraordinary color, rare, and possibly somewhat unearthly. Cecily was a remarkably beautiful young woman—everyone who met her told her so. Her raven hair and milky white skin made her look ethereal, quite like a character in a fairy tale. She did not favor her red-haired mother or golden-haired father; rather, she seemed to resemble her favorite aunt. She could have easily been mistaken for Marie's own child, for Cecily Wolfe was every bit as beautiful as Marie in her youth.
When Marie handed her the letter, Cecily read aloud, “Dearest Marie... you must know you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Not only are you fair of face, but your heart is so gentle and pure. You are as close to perfection as anything I ever beheld, and you deserve all the blessings that life has to offer.”
Cecily briefly lowered the letter to her lap and exclaimed, “Oh, what a lovely sentiment! His letters are always so moving!”
“My captain was an incurable romantic. He always had the kindest words for me,” Marie said. “Unfortunately, my life did not turn out quite so blessed as he had hoped. I have always felt a bit... alone.”
Cecily flashed a smile over her shoulder. “But you have me! And you have Mother and Grandmama!”
“Indeed I do.”
Cecily continued to read aloud, until she reached the page's end, “The day you walked into my world was the day I started to live. You were my life, my reason for living. If I could have one last kiss of your lips, I would die a happy man.”
When she finished reading, Cecily clasped a hand over her heart and sighed dreamily. “One day, I hope someone loves me as much as your Captain Sedgeford loved you!”
“I am sure someone shall. And if you return his affection, he will be extraordinarily fortunate, for you are the loveliest girl in the world.” She playfully rapped the top of Cecily's head with the hairbrush.
“Truly, Marie...” Cecily hugged the letter to her chest. “It is really so inspiring! Though your love ended tragically, it has withstood the test of time, and I find that very touching!”
“I am lucky to have the letters,” Marie admitted. “He's been gone for decades, but I feel as though he's still with me... in some small way.”
“He is! Even now, I'm sure he watches over you from wherever he is.” Cecily turned in her aunt's direction and flashed the sweetest of smiles.
“That is... very optimistic of you, Cecily.”
“It is optimistic... and I believe it is true,” Cecily said. “And one day, you'll be reunited with the writer of these letters. I am quite certain of it!”
Chapter Nineteen
It was against his better judgment that Edward approached Phoebe. Had her husband been with her, he would not have spoken to her at all. Even after so many years had passed, he still felt the sting of her rejection. Although the pain had dulled over time, her decision to choose Augustus over him had affected his entire life. He no longer took risks with women, nor did he allow himself to get too attached.
It was ironic that they were meeting again at a picnic, of all things. It was at a picnic that they first met years ago, as children.
“Good day, Mrs. Wolfe...” When he greeted her, he nearly stumbled over the name. She would always be Miss Bowden to him. “I hope you are well?”
When she looked up and saw him standing over her, Phoebe was understandably shocked. She cupped a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the sun. Her daughter, who was sitting beside her, was apparently the wise one today. The afternoon was teeming with sunshine, and Cecily was prepared. She was hiding under a straw hat as well as a parasol, so her cheeks were not nearly as hot and red as her mother's.
“M-Mr. Rhodes!” Phoebe exclaimed. “It has been so long...”
“Many years,” he agreed. “Far too long.”
“How long has it been, do you think?”
“Five years. Six, perhaps. It feels like ages. You look lovely, as always. And I trust you are well?”
“Quite.” She tried to use a fan to cool her cheeks, which were now blushing as well as burnt.
“And your husband...” Edward dared to ask. “He is also well?”
“He is. Unfortunately, he had business in London and could n
ot attend the picnic, but I'm sure he is well.”
Edward said nothing for several seconds. He would have hardly been surprised if Augustus' business in London was with a mistress. He expected nothing less of that dastard. “And this...” Edward turned his gaze to Cecily, “this is your daughter?”
“Indeed. My beautiful Cecily.” Phoebe gently patted her daughter's freckled arm. Though she favored Marie in many ways, that was the one thing mother and daughter shared: freckles. “Cecily, dear, do you remember Mr. Rhodes?”
“I...” Cecily's lips pursed as she studied him. “I don't believe I do. I'm terribly sorry.”
“Oh, you needn't apologize,” Edward responded. “I wouldn't remember me either... I'm rather unremarkable.” He saw Phoebe opening her lips, possibly to protest, so he added quickly, “and you were still a child when we last met, Miss Wolfe. You must have been... twelve? Thirteen? It seems you are a young lady now, and I would not expect you to remember a passing acquaintance of many years ago.”
“Well... it is very good to meet you again, Mr. Rhodes,” Cecily said. “This time, I hope you will be more than a passing acquaintance.”
“I hope for that as well.” He turned his attention back to Phoebe—and he wished he hadn't, for it was still difficult to look at her. How foolish was he for having hurt feelings after so many years? Edward felt utterly ashamed of himself. “Well then... I suppose I should take my leave. It was lovely to see you again, Mrs. Wolfe.”
“Thank you. And I share your sentiment, of course.”
As soon as he turned away from the mother and daughter, Edward clenched a fist in frustration. When he returned to his uncle, he knew they would have much to discuss, since neither of them was a stranger to heartache and unrequited love.
“Well, Edward...” Julian spoke. “How did it go?”
“Painful.” His response was accompanied by a wince. “Perhaps I should not have spoken to her.”
“And the daughter? What did you think of her?”
“She's very young... but undeniably beautiful. She reminds me of your Marie... only much younger, of course.”
“Miss Sutton is not my Marie,” Julian corrected him, and under his breath he added, “though I wish it was so.”
“I am sure Miss Wolfe will be very popular very soon. As pretty as she is, I am certain she'll be surrounded by beaux in no time.” Edward sat beside his uncle and indolently plucked a blade of grass. As he shredded it in his fingers, he asked, “Why do you not speak to Miss Sutton? You care for her a great deal... it is obvious.”
“What would it accomplish?” Julian asked with a shrug. “She was in love with my brother... and she has been faithful to him for many years. And I, to my great shame, have been pretending to be my brother. I would rather not get too close to Miss Sutton, for fear of ultimately risking her disappointment in me.”
Edward tossed the blade of grass and sighed. “Nevertheless... it makes no sense. If you care about the woman, why distance yourself?”
“It makes perfect sense to me, Edward. It is much safer to admire her from afar. Surely you, of all people, can understand one's desire to avoid heartache.”
“I still believe you should speak to her,” Edward said. “If not for yourself, then do it for me.”
“But Edward, I fail to see how--”
His nephew interrupted. “I was brave enough to speak to Phoebe. Surely you are, at the very least, a man of equal courage?”
Julian assumed his nephew would not back down until the challenge was met, so he capsized quickly. “Very well. I'll speak to her.”
“Good. I am sure you shall not regret it.”
As Julian rose to his feet, Edward gave him a slight push. With a thunderous heart, he made his way to Marie—the woman he secretly adored. Though he had known her for many years, his pulse still raced at the sight of her, and even more so when he spoke to her.
“Miss Sutton?” Julian greeted her. He tried to keep his voice as even as possible, for she did not need to know how deeply she unsettled him. Fortunately, she was alone, which made approaching her a bit easier. “I'm not bothering you, I hope?”
“Ah, Mr. Sedgeford. You could never bother me, of course. Your face is always a welcome one.” She moved aside, clearing space on her blanket for him to join her.
“I'm glad to hear it.” As he sat beside her, a smile tipped his lips. “How is your family?”
“Quite well, thank you for asking. At times, I am shocked by how quickly time progresses. Not long ago, I would swear that Cecily was a baby... and now she is grown.”
“And I remember Phoebe as a child,” Julian added. “I remember those days quite well, in fact.” There was a paper on Marie's lap, and curiosity overwhelmed him. When he leaned forward, he immediately identified it as one of his brother's letters—or rather, one of his letters. Of course, he felt guilty. And yet, another small part of him felt proud for continuing his brother's legacy. If Marie kept one of the letters with her at all times, they clearly meant a lot to her. Knowing that, how could he possibly let his brother's letters come to an end?
“One of my brother's letters,” Julian boldly observed. “I see they still mean a great deal to you.”
“Yes... they do. And I'm sure their endless importance in my life makes me look nothing less than pitiful.” Marie quickly folded the letter and returned it the pocket of her pelisse.
“Not at all,” he objected. “Your undying affection for my brother is quite touching.”
“I've been in love with a dead man for most of my life.” Marie glanced away as soon as she felt the heat of tears behind her eyes. “Is that silly?”
“Certainly not! If anything, I admire your strength of spirit. Your love for him is so steadfast. Furthermore... my brother was a good man. The best sort of man. It would be more shocking if you did not love him your entire life.”
Marie glanced at Phoebe, who was having a discussion with her daughter. Somewhere in her mind, she still remembered the young lady with plaited red hair who chased after frogs. Where on earth had the time gone? “I confess... I sometimes wonder what my life might have been like if he had not been taken from me so soon. Would we have children? Would we be happy?”
“You'll torture yourself with thoughts like those. You would do well not to dwell on such things.”
“I agree entirely... and yet, my mind never fails to wander to depressing thoughts.” When she turned toward him again, her eyes still glistened, but the threat of tears was gone. “If he was alive... I wonder if he would even recognize me now. I've changed so much.”
“We have all changed,” Julian said. “But... to be quite honest with you, Miss Sutton, I don't think you've changed too much.”
Marie dismissed his compliment with a wave of her hand. “Oh, pish! I am an old lady now. I am three and fifty. When I knew your brother, I was thirty years younger! Can you believe it has been that long?”
“Nevertheless, you are a remarkably handsome woman.” Julian's voice crackled as he praised her. “And I'm certain my brother would agree.”
“Do you know what's strange, Mr. Sedgeford?” Marie paused a moment, as if struggling with her question. “I've known you much longer than your brother! I knew him for one year, and yet I've known you for thirty. I suppose... I never took the time to consider that.”
“It is an odd thought, indeed,” he agreed. “In just one year, my brother made quite an impact.” Julian wished he could make a similar impact on her life, but it was becoming painfully obvious that he would not. If he hadn't managed to impress her in thirty years, it would likely never happen.
“Perhaps... after so much time has passed, I should not call you Mr. Sedgeford anymore. Perhaps I should call you Julian?”
“I would like that very much.” After a moment's hesitation, he added, “Marie.”
“Good. This pleases me greatly, Julian. I can hardly believe it took us so long to dispense with formalities.” Marie smiled at him, but only briefly, because she
could feel her smile lines appearing. She gently caressed the lines around her mouth, hoping to smooth them a bit—of course, she never could. Her wrinkles never left her, no matter how much she wished them away. “Perhaps I should not expect your brother to recognize me when I barely recognize myself. There are times... especially when I dream at night... when I still imagine myself as a young woman. If I could go back, if I could have another chance at life, I believe there are many things I would change.”
“Such as?”
“Somehow, I would find a way to have children of my own,” she said. “I adore children! My sister's child and grandchild were undoubtedly a blessing... but I would have liked to be called mama. Just once.”
“I, myself, could not imagine being called papa. It would be more than strange.”
“For a man, it is never too late, but for me...” Marie folded her hands in her lap and heaved a sigh. “Perhaps it is not worth discussing. I should keep my woes to myself.”
“No, you needn't do that. You are free to share any thoughts with me, Marie. I want to be your friend.” And he wanted it desperately. He wanted to be more than friends. There were so many unspoken feelings in his heart, but he knew they would never find a voice.
“You are a good friend,” she said. “One of the few that still remain.”
Marie laid her hand on top of his. It was meant to be a polite gesture—she had no idea what an effect it had on him. His heart raged harder than ever.
“Is there anything you regret, Julian?” she asked him.
“A few things,” Julian admitted. As he studied her handsome face, his hammering heart began to ache. “And one thing in particular.”
“And what is this one thing you regret the most?”
“It is... of no import,” he answered, then quickly changed the subject to something inane.
He had been silent about his feelings for thirty years.
And there would never be another regret more soul-crushing than that.
The Captain's Letters Page 10